


Asking for a Favor

by molamola2200



Category: Hamlet - Shakespeare
Genre: M/M, i wrote this in like zero minutes without proofreading sorry if there are mistakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 05:34:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14826291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/molamola2200/pseuds/molamola2200
Summary: Alternative to canon where Hamlet asks Horatio for help murdering Claudius or something. This is a oneshot, I just wanted to see this interaction take place. Also like, both of them are absolutely smitten, so that's nice. Maybe things would go better in the play if Hamlet asked his friends for help more often.





	Asking for a Favor

Hamlet leans in close, looks over his shoulder once to check that they’re alone; there’s a thousand things written into those eyes, and among these, Horatio can discern guilt, hesitation, fear… And then he comes closer, and Horatio swears he sees that gorgeous intelligence, the spark of wit, the burning of desire and the warmth of devotion. And he has no words on his tongue, no breath in his chest. He clenches his jaw and braces himself for Hamlet to speak.

 

“Horatio, I love you.”

 

Long pause, and Horatio feels like he’s going to faint. Their faces are inches away from one another. A bead of sweat trails the side of his face down to his jaw, but he doesn’t feel it. He’s heard Hamlet say it before, but not since… ah.

 

“I love you more than the world. Do you know that?”

 

It takes Horatio too long to answer; he’s hardly registered the question. Why listen to words when everything Hamlet wants to say is already recorded there somewhere, etched into the lines in Hamlet’s face, the dilation of his pupils, the furrow of his brow? He gets lost trying to read this sort of text.

 

“Horatio. Answer me.”

 

“Y— yes… yes, my lord. And I love you. My sweet prince.” 

 

He stammers, calls him all sorts of lovely things, because Hamlet is so lovely. Even like this. Depressed and constantly exhausted, strange to the point of near-insanity, brooding, lonesome, bleak and unkempt. Even like this, Horatio falls in love with him every time they are near, and more with every word, every glance, every breath.

 

“And… though in my current… let’s say,  _ predicament _ — I am loath to say this lightly: I trust you. Sometimes so much so that I fear it. I wish that we could see through each other; touch and know the fabric of the other’s soul, read it like some tapestry spun by old gods. And then I think, hah, maybe we’ve already done as much… At least it feels so.”

 

“I…—” Horatio swallows. Do people say things like that to people they’re not dating? (Or  _ are  _ they dating? Shouldn’t he know this? And yet.) Actually— do people even say things like that  _ at all _ ? Like, ever? “Thank you, my lord. That— that— that’s very kind of you. To say. To me.” 

 

He sucks in a breath, face flushing hot. He’s managing. Barely. At least he hasn’t fainted yet?

 

“I don’t know if it’s so  _ kind _ …” He looks off for a second, distracted; he grimaces like something sharp just went through him, then sighs a little. “For better or worse, it’s how I feel.”

 

“And it’s—  you’re— your  _ words _ … they’re lovely.” Like you. “I’m honored to be the subject of your thoughts. When you speak, it’s poetry.”

 

“Oh, please.” Hamlet rolls his eyes, but there’s a flash of a smile in them too. Then, all at once he takes Horatio’s hands into his and squeezes them tightly; Hamlet’s hands are cold like death and just as firm. 

 

“I wish it were just poetry… How I sincerely wish I could spend my time composing verses for your smile,” he says, expression sagging with sadness, then it hardens again. “But there’s a reason— for all of this.”

 

He squeezes Horatio’s hands again, almost too hard this time.

 

“A— a reason, my lord?”

 

“Yes. And I hate it…” Then he gets this look in his eyes, like someone punched him. All at once his tenderness dissipates and he looks stony and hateful, and Horatio can feel the air around them shiver. “I want— I  _ need _ something from you, Horatio.”

 

Yes. Anything. Anything at all. 

 

… Horatio wishes he could say, but his heart has leapt into his throat and stolen his voice for the moment. Hamlet’s death and despair look isn’t helping much either.

 

“Will you help me murder the king of Denmark?”

 

_ What? _

**Author's Note:**

> Comment if you want me to write more Hamlet stuff/if there's anything you want written and I might do it; I really, really love this play lmao. Also sorry the text is so spaced out! Idk what happened there.


End file.
